


The First Wizarding War: But Better

by salvatorestjohn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Heavy Angst, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvatorestjohn/pseuds/salvatorestjohn
Summary: The one born as the seventh month ends, with parents who have thrice defied him, will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Only, Lord Voldemort can't be sure which boy the prophecy is foretelling to be his downfall. Lily and James Potter will do anything to keep their son safe, as will Alice and Frank Longbottom. Hidden away from the rest of the world, who already live in daily fear of what the war will bring down onto their doorstep next. Everyone wants to keep their loved ones safe from harm, but it isn't so easy when they themselves are powerless, and those loved ones almost just as much. And the Dark Lord will go to any length for the power he craves, to put an end to this prophecy. What will reign in the end? How much bloodshed will there have to be before the War is won?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marauders & Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter
Kudos: 6





	The First Wizarding War: But Better

**Author's Note:**

> STRAIGHT OFF THE BAT HEADS-UP FOR THIS CHAPTER: Talk of domestic violence (to a pregnant woman), descriptions of injuries and such, and murder in self-defence. It will only be in this chapter, there may be a few references to what happened in conversation over the next chapter; I will put a warning at the top of that one as well if there is, so that you guys can have a heads-up there, too!

Change doesn’t sit well with Petunia Dursley, it never has, not when she was young and her sister, Lily, made a new friend and wanted to play with him all the time instead of going to their tree like they always did. Not when that blasted wizarding school letter came for Lily and not her and everything changed; suddenly Lily was  _ special _ ; special in a way that apparently she never could be. Not when Lily left her behind every year to go to that school, and not when she got engaged to that Potter boy at barely eighteen. It was always easier to remove herself from every uncomfortable situation, ignore any sort of change to her daily life as best she could by putting literal, physical distance between herself and the result.

It… worked, for the most part. Leaving Cokeworth was one of the best decisions she made. Getting that job. Meeting Vernon. Marrying Vernon. She’ll admit, she had a slight falter before the wedding, when the idea of Lily not being there for any of it got too much and she managed to plant the idea of meeting Lily and her boyfriend for dinner one night in Vernon’s head. It was a disaster, of course. She shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. 

Although, seeing Lily that night… smiling… happy, glowing with love and glancing at her every so often with the same look she used to have when they were younger and wanted to play with her… it was nice to see. For a moment. Then Vernon and Potter heated the tension with talk of cars, and brooms, and money--always money, it was such a stupid fight, pointless--and the moment was over as if it had never happened. It’s easier to imagine it was Potter’s fault. Their fault. If Lily hadn’t brought him, if she had decided to date anyone else, Vernon would never have gotten so proud and defensive. 

It’s a good quality to have, she tried to reason to herself as Vernon marched her out of the restaurant and back into the car that he kept muttering about being “far more reliable than a ruddy broomstick--a  _ broomstick _ , Petunia, I mean--he’s off his nut. Daft, a lunatic, a right freak for the nuthouse, that’s what he is--I _ mean _ \--” not once seeming to realize that Petunia was barely nodding, not even listening. 

She had been too busy trying to keep her face a mask of agreement to match his outrage and offence. Her eyes had stung in protest and she had bitten on the inside of her cheek until it had bled as her heart shattered, the look on Lily’s face when Petunia stood and left flashing again and again in her mind as they drove off. 

No, it’s better to have a quiet life. Where nothing can surprise you, no unexpected change.

Petunia stares straight ahead, unseeing. There’s a bitter laughter in her head, one she doesn’t dare let escape from her lips, not here, not now, far too inappropriate. They'd be carting _her_ off in a straitjacket. 

A simple, peaceful, happy life, she thinks with contempt and a discreet, twisted smile.

Settling for content with a house and a husband who seemed to love her for the most part was good enough for her. Who needed anything else? Except for maybe one other thing. 

A child, of her own, a little boy she can raise with love, to be spoiled in a way she never was. A child, with Vernon, who was pleased, of course. A child that would truly bind their lives together if the marriage wasn’t enough. A child who comes from the same bloodline as her sister. She never mentioned her worries to Vernon. He would have waved them aside anyway. “Nonsense, Petunia, you haven’t a drop of m--er…  _ that _ , in your blood. No child of ours will either!”

Petunia had feared what would happen if, on the very rare off-chance, their son did end up like Lily. With magic. It would be obvious to them right away, there’d be no hiding it. But Vernon was so sure, so convinced. So determined to be right that she hoped he was. Any talk of magic, or wizards… or Lily… were strictly off-limits in the house. Vernon’s say so. And she abides.

_ Abided _ , that bitter little voice corrects in her head, like a maliciously taunting ghoul that refuses to leave her mind. Because she need not have worried what Vernon’s reaction would be; he’ll never be around to find out if their son does somehow manifest the same abilities. 

Petunia is very still. That thought should fill her with something. A wave of despair. Grief for her husband, for her son. For the perfect, quiet life with the pretty lawn and the pristine, beautiful house. But it’s quite the opposite. There’s no feeling at all. It’s as if every nerve in her body has been severed, and everything has just turned numb. 

“It’ll take some time,” the nurse gently tells her when she explains the feeling without really registering that she’s doing it, something she never would have dared; speaking her mind and bearing her feelings out like this to some stranger. “Everyone grieves differently, Mrs Dursely.”

“Evans,” Petunia says softly, without thinking. 

The nurse hesitates, then says, “I’m sorry?” She says it in a voice so gentle that anyone would think Petunia were a child made of glass. In need of slow, soothing words. 

“Miss Evans,” Petunia says tonelessly. “My name is Petunia Evans.”

The nurse seems to understand this. It shows in her expression, like a subtle dawning, then she nods in a way as if they have a secret, as if she’s done this too often, and says, “Of course, Miss Evans. Do you have someone you wish to call?”

Petunia isn’t dim. She may not be looking directly at her, but she still catches the nurse’s eyes darting from pinpoint to pinpoint, across her face, her throat. She hasn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but she can guess the sight she must be, sitting here in a flimsy dressing gown, lying in a hospital bed.

Her lip is stinging and almost feels as numb as her insides so she’s sure it’s swollen and possibly bleeding from the metallic taste in her mouth, and the skin around her right eye feels nearly as tight, limiting her vision. The dry, strained ache in her throat is probably the worst. It’s like there’s a phantom hand still right there, clutching her hard by her throat, fingers squeezing on either side until her head feels like it’s becoming disconnected from the rest of her.

“No,” Petunia says quietly, still gazing at the floor. Her hand’s on her stomach. She hadn’t realized it was there before. “I have no one.”

“It says in your records that you have a sister?” the nurse prompts, as if Petunia's merely in a dazed shock and needs the information spoonfed to her like medicine. “What about her?”

“No,” Petunia repeats, like a mindless drone, the same flat tone. 

The nurse hesitates again. She clearly wants to insist and press Petunia to let her get someone for her. But she was telling the truth. There is no one else. Lily hates her. Maybe for good reason. Her mother and father have distanced themselves from her since she moved out. They don’t even know she’s pregnant.

“A friend, perhaps?” the nurse tries, a desperate note in her voice. 

“Vernon always said I didn’t need any,” Petunia replies, shaking her head. “He said all I needed was him. Wonder where he’d say that leaves me now?”

The nurse doesn’t seem to know what to say to her at this point. Comforting isn’t working; there’s nothing to comfort when she doesn’t feel any pain. If anything, she receives a sympathetic look. Like she’s to be pitied. But where does pity get her? 

“You’re not alone, dear,” the nurse says, and her voice is almost hushed now, as if to pass a secret between them. “I see many women come in here, same situation. Or similar, at least. Reaching out to someone could help. Family or stranger, doesn’t matter.”

But Petunia’s stopped listening. What would she say? Especially in this state? Heaven forbid Lily, or her parents, see her like this. Beaten and bruised. What would they say? “We told you something didn’t seem right with that boy.” Would she tell them that she had tried to breach the subject of the possibility of their son having magic with Vernon at last, knowing that his birth was rapidly approaching and it would be too late by then, and he laughed, thinking it a joke, then turned angry? Told her that he would not tolerate magic in his household? That he would stamp it out of the boy if need be? And when Petunia had shouted back, finding a voice for the first time in so long, to tell him he would not lay a hand on him, magic or not, he had attacked her like some suddenly furious animal and she was the chew toy? Like he thought he could stamp it out of him through her.

Bile rises in the back of her throat and the bitter laughter is back in her mind. The neighbours would have a right field day. She can’t face that humiliation.

And it would mean telling them that Vernon is dead. How does she explain that? How is she going to when the police arrive, which she is well aware they are going to in due time. Who ever believes self-defence? Her baby can’t be taken from her. He can’t be born inside of a prison cell either. That isn’t the life she wants for him.

“The doctors said he’s alright?” she questions. “My little boy? He’s okay?” 

A beat passes as the nurse continues to stare at her as if wishing she would change her mind, then sighs, pressing her lips together in a small smile. 

“Yes, he’s going to be okay,” she says, nodding, finally taking her hand back. It’s a relief, if she’s being honest. The contact was making her stiff. “There’s been no damage to him or to you. Just try and relax.”

Petunia nods absent-mindedly. Relax. She just murdered her husband. But she can relax. Perhaps it seems easier because the medication they gave her is finally kicking in.

“Are you sure there’s no one you would like to be here with you--” the nurse starts, only to stop when they hear a voice shouting from somewhere in the corridors. It bounces off of the walls, booming and familiar. And furious, choking on a strangled sob. 

Petunia finally feels something. Icy cold dread, surging through her, twisting in her stomach. And pure loathing for the woman who seems to be storming down the corridors, much to the protests of a doctor or two. 

“My brother!” Marge Dursley’s voice gives a barking scream. “Killed in his own home! Where is she?! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHERE THE BITCH IS--DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, YOU--”

The nurse looks quickly at Petunia. She just gives a sharp nod in response to the unasked question. Marge’s screams are still going, but she sounds like she’s struggling against some of the doctors now, throwing a litany of swears at them, some rather crude and definitely derogatory.

“Don’t let her near me,” Petunia says sharply, startling the nurse with the fearful note in her voice. “Please. I don’t want her near me.”

“Don’t worry, you’re safe here,” the nurse assures her, staying by her bed and watching the door with her, both waiting for it to burst open at any moment as Marge comes crashing through. But she doesn’t reach Petunia’s room. 

The doctors seem to get a handle on her. Petunia hears the distinct sound of a radio. Marge’s voice is still heard, still blazing and choking, and she manages to make out a few words, all demanding that her brother gets justice in the form of Petunia being arrested. She tries to tune out the parts she throws in about her baby. If the police take any notice, she can’t be sure. 

The medication has fully kicked in now, and try as she might to stop them, her eyelids start to lower and everything’s fuzzy. Her last coherent thoughts are on whether or not she’ll be waking up in handcuffs.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

“Mundungus--no. You can’t just take off whenever you like, you know that.”

Lily’s barely listening to the argument unfolding at the latest Order meeting. It’s always the same anyway; nine times out of ten, Mundungus Fletcher, the human equivalent of a magpie in the sense that he’s an unreliable little man with a particular interest in anything shiny, will want to leave the meetings early for some reason or another and someone will get into a row with him about his lack of commitment. 

Today, that person is Emmeline Vance. A hardened, stern, Slytherin witch, already three years graduated from Hogwarts. She’s definitely not a fan of his. In all fairness, though, Lily isn’t sure he has any at all. Mundungus certainly makes his company hard to enjoy from what she’s seen of him. And she's seen far too much.

“I’ll be quick!” Mundungus fires back as if Emmeline is being irrational. “Nothing’s happening, the meeting’s practically over anyway, innit? And these watches are gonna be gone if I don’t--”

“You put everyone at risk without a care,” Emmeline says sharply. “Dumbledore may let you wander off wherever and whenever you want, but if you’re out,  _ you’re out _ . Get your priorities in check before you attend these meetings.”

“Keep your hair on, lady!” Mundungus replies, an anxious note in his voice at the prospect of being kicked from the Order of the Phoenix. With it being a top-secret organization formed to take down their biggest enemies (Voldemort and his Death Eaters, of course), if you’re not in it, you don’t know a thing that’s going on. 

Lily can imagine that’s not a position Mundungus likes being in; he’ll do what’s best for himself in any given situation, and being part of the Order means their protection. Otherwise, it’s work for the other side. In truth, she wouldn’t put it past him to switch sides if it really came down to it. He’s a bit of a coward and has proven it to them multiple times, but Dumbledore doesn’t seem to notice, or he doesn’t care. 

“I’m not doing nothing wro--”

There’s a loud screech, cutting Mundungus off mid-sentence, followed by the rapping of something against the window. Talons. Lily, being the closest to the window the tawny barn owl is hovering outside of, gets up to open it. The owl flies in and allows Lily to untie the scroll of parchment tied to its leg, waits only long enough for her to feed it the corner of a piece of shortbread, then takes back off again. 

Closing the window, Lily quickly unrolls the parchment. Emmeline and Mundungus have already resumed arguing, everyone’s attention mostly focused on them still with only a few people looking over at her curiously, waiting to see if it’s word from Dumbledore, or something worse. They never know these days. So many people are dying. After Marlene, they’re all on edge. 

Just thinking about her ties a knot in Lily’s stomach. She forces herself to take in the ink on the parchment, written in Dumbledore’s familiar scrawl. 

**Dear Lily,**

**As you know, I have been monitoring all of the members of the Order, as well as keeping a close eye on your families and their wellbeing on the off-chance that Voldemort chooses to target them to get to one of you. It’s because of this that I have come to hear that your sister, Petunia, is in hospital. I talked to a doctor there, and they say she and her unborn child are alright. Her husband is dead. Petunia was protecting herself from what I believe, but I have my doubts that the Muggle authorities are going to take the same perspective, even with clear evidence. If you would like, I can send someone to clear things up. I know the two of you aren’t as close as you once were, but I thought it better to let you know her situation.**

**Yours Sincerely,**

**Albus Dumbledore.**

Lily’s heart thumps loudly in her throat. She has to read a couple of the lines more than once to make sure she’s seeing it right. Petunia in hospital. Vernon is dead. Petunia could be going to jail for his murder. The last word repeats over in her head on a loop, along with hospital, then jail, then Petunia, and the cycle just seems to keep spinning on and on--

She thinks she might be sick. 

There’s a gentle hand on her shoulder, followed by the softened voice of her husband, James Potter, asking, “What is it? Lily?”

She can tell by the worried, anxious note in his voice that he’s steeling himself for news of another lost member, another murder, another Muggle family attacked and killed or gone missing. It’s the usual daily news at this point for them. 

“It’s Petunia,” she whispers, shaking her head, eyes still tracing the words like they’re going to change. “She’s in hospital, and--and Vernon--he’s dead, Dumbledore thinks Petunia did it.”

“What?” James asks, suddenly alarmed, clearly having as hard a time processing. “Dead? I--Petunia killed him? I don't understand, what--"

Lily shakes her head; her heartbeat is too loud, it’s hard to think straight, and Emmeline is still shouting at Mundungus, voices now raised as Edgar Bones tries to deescalate the situation.

“I don’t know, but I--I need to go.” It’s a split-second decision. One made right there on the spot as she’s talking. No matter how they last left things, Petunia’s her sister. “I need to be there, I need to help her.”

James doesn’t even hesitate. There’s a flicker in his eyes, but he’s nodding right away, concern clouding his expression as he quickly says, “Yeah, of course, let’s go. Hey--”

He turns to his right and finds his best mate, Sirius Black, still seated at the table. As elegantly, gracefully casual in his obnoxious way, lounging back in his chair with his legs kicked up, watching the fight with great amusement, his steadily growing main of sleek black hair tied up in a small bun atop his head, showing off the slight stubble running along his chin and the miniature hoop dangling from his earlobes. 

“Padfoot, can we borrow your bike?” James asks him. 

Sirius looks up at him at being addressed. His eyebrows knit together and he looks immediately suspicious as he glances between the two of them, then his eyes dart to the letter in Lily’s hand. Either something about the expression Lily’s wearing or something James does tells him it’s better not to ask right now, but he nods all the same without a question. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says, and digs his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out the keys. He tosses them to James, who catches them with ease in one hand. “Be careful.”

James has a grim expression, but he nods back. “You know me, Padfoot.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m worried,” Sirius replies, but he gestures his head for them to go. “If this lot ever cools down, what do you want me to tell them? You coming back, or…?”

James glances at Lily, but her head is spinning, and she honestly doesn’t know. He says pretty much exactly that to Sirius, who accepts the three-word response of, "No idea, mate," with another gesture for them to go. 

They quickly depart from the room, leaving the Order in disarray. 

"Which hospital is it?" James asks.

Lily checks the parchment that's now wrinkled slightly in her hand from her tight grip. "Milford Hospital. It’s in Surrey, I think, that’s the last place I know Petunia lived. Oh, that’s at least an hour and a half from here, isn’t it?”

James cracks a small grin. “Not the way this bike drives. Hop on.”

She does without question. He swings himself in front of her, sticks the keys in and turns them; the bike roars to life. James hits some button in front of him, then he grips the handlebars. He doesn’t need to tell her to do the same with his waist, her arms already winding around his middle and clinging on as he kicks the bike into gear, and they start to move. It is, after all, not her first time on this death trap that Sirius assures her is far safer than it was before he made the necessary wizarding adjustment. 

“Muggles are really taking a risk,” he had said, “driving these things without magic. Trust me, Evans, this is even safer than a broom.” 

Not his most convincing argument considering she’s well aware brooms aren’t exactly the safest contraptions that wizards have come up with; she’s been to enough of the Gryffindor Quidditch matches in her years at Hogwarts to have seen first-hand the injuries flying one results in. 

Thankfully, they encounter no problems as they leave behind the old, abandoned building that is invisible to Muggle eyes and used to be the home of a Wizarding store that closed down years ago, currently renovated with magic for this week’s meeting, and hopefully the next. 

Despite being familiar with the bike, Lily’s heart is still launched into her throat and her stomach thrown out to the ground when she feels the wheels lift off of the ground and into the sky. James steers them through the sky with the ease of someone who’s played Quidditch--the favoured sport in the Wizarding World--for the last six years. She doesn’t bother to look, just buries her face in his shoulder, playing over every scenario that could occur when they land over and over again in her mind. 

They reach the hospital in barely five minutes. She feels the wheels come back to the ground, feels the slight bounce, hears the engine give a little spurt of a noise that would concern her in a normal muggle vehicle but is probably a good sign from a magical one. 

Lily unwraps herself from James and swings herself off, James promptly following, and the two of them hurry inside the entrance of the hospital. It’s almost completely deserted, but there are some people milling around; doctors in long white coats, nurses, a patient or two. 

“We’re looking for Petunia Evans,” Lily says, breathless, on instinct as soon as they walk up to the reception, where a middle-aged woman is sitting behind the desk with a panel of glass separating them. “Wait. Petunia Dursely,” she corrects. “Is Petunia Dursley here?”

“Are you family?” the woman asks in a slow, croaking voice, dropping her eyes down to the pages in front of her. 

“I’m her sister,” Lily confirms, “this is my husband.”

The woman gives no reply. Doesn't even acknowledge the fact that they're both slightly out of breath and look windswept. It's a good thing they opted for Muggle clothing to appear conspicuous when making their way to the meeting. She just continues to scan the list, searching for Petunia’s name at a pace that Lily thinks is just a mite too slow for her impatience and anxiety levels to have to cope with right now, given the situation. 

But it only lasts another few seconds; she doesn’t find the name, but Lily hears a voice that certainly seems to know it well as they’re screaming it at the top of their lungs. Lily and James look at each other, then they’re taking off down the corridor at a run. They ignore the shouts of the receptionist from behind them to come back. She doesn't chase after them.

They’re already swinging around a corner at the end of the hall that opens into another one, this one lined with doors into patient's rooms. Coming towards them is a struggling woman--a round, purplish face and no neck, her eyes beady and beetle-like, wearing mismatched clothes that look as if they were hastily thrown on. For all of that, she’s being pulled down the hall rather forcibly by a police officer, who’s clearly trying to get her to quiet her voice as another stands a little way away behind them with a doctor, both looking exhausted. 

“ARREST HER, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE SPAWN,” the woman yells, and Lily sees now that her face is flushing a deeper shade of purple the more outraged she seems to get. “LET THAT VILE BITCH ROT IN PRISON! YOU HEAR ME, PETUNIA? YOU'LL ROT!"

She’s turned her face up to the ceiling as she screams out her litany of threats and curses.

Anger quickly rises inside of Lily like a dangerously bubbling potion, and she makes to move right in front of her.

“Did you say Petunia?” she asks, just to be sure. James appears at her side, eyeing the Muggle police officer with some uncertainty, and glancing around as if he’s never seen a place like this before. 

The woman stops screaming. The officer looks relieved.

“What’s it to you?” the woman barks nastily, and Lily’s reminded of a snapping little dog. One that goes for the ankles, even when completely unprovoked. 

Before Lily can answer, however, the woman’s beetle-like eyes are trailing over her, narrowing with something close to suspicion and rapidly approaching disgust. 

“Are you that sister?” she demands. “You look like her. Not by much, but--you're the disgraced one? Well, no more of a disgrace than she is, I suppose. She's a MURDERING, EVIL--”

“ _ Silencio! _ ”

Lily’s eyes widen as the woman’s mouth keeps opening, only for no audible sound to come out of it. She seems to realize this as well, as she freezes, mouth staying open, but an expression of confusion clouding her face.

Turning quickly to James, Lily finds the tip of his wand poking out of the sleeve of the Muggle jacket she bought for him last Christmas so he would blend in better. James just gives an uncertain, sheepish shrug. 

“Instinct?”

But Lily’s already looking back towards the police officer, who’s glancing from the woman to James, to Lily with a look of utter bewilderment, trying to work out what’s going on. 

“James…” Lily says out of the corner of her mouth. The woman is now trying to scream, her mouth opening wide, her face turning an even deeper shade of purple, but it’s to no avail.

“On it,” says James. With a quick flourish of his wand, he mutters, “ _ Confundo _ .”

This time, the spell hits both of the people in front of them. The woman stops trying to make a noise, now blinking around her, the police officer doing the same, both with strangely blank looks on their faces. 

James takes Lily by the elbow and they quickly walk past, down the hall.

As they reach the other officer and the doctor, neither of whom seem to have noticed a thing going on, having been enraptured in their own conversation, James briskly asks, “What room is Petunia Dursley in?”

"You family?" the doctor asks uncertainly.

"Yes. What room?"

“Third floor,” the doctor answers with a wary look on his face, stepping forward with a hand outstretched as if to stop them, “room six, but I’m afraid she can’t have any visitors, it’s not--”

Lily doesn’t get to find out what it’s not. With another quick flourish of his concealed wand and another mutter of the spell, James forces the doctor to fall silent like the woman. The next moment, the same blank look is clouding both his and the other police officer’s faces.

They move quickly, taking the stairs all the way up to the third floor. They locate room six. It’s not exactly difficult; there’s another police officer stationed right outside it, looking over a clipboard. 

James doesn’t wait this time; he casts the Confundus charm straight away and lightly shoves him aside to let them enter the room. Lily walks straight in, but she notices James hang back in the doorway. He just gives a little motion of his hands for her to go ahead as he glances down the hallway, clearly keeping watch for anyone else who may come along. 

Turning into the room, Lily stops dead before she can take another step. Her heart gives a painful twist, her stomach joining in the uncomfortable knot. A quiet gasp slips past her lips before her hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“What--?” James starts to ask, but the noise alerted his attention and he looks over to where Lily’s wide eyes that are quickly becoming blurred are transfixed in horror. He swears softly under his breath. “Godric. What happened to her?”

Petunia’s asleep in the bed in the middle on the small room. But she looks in no way peaceful. Her skin, usually pale, is blossoming black, blue, and purple, mainly around Petunia’s right eye that looks so swollen she’d be surprised if Petunia would even be able to see out of it, and the strip of her neck Lily can see from the angle her head’s tilted at; the bruise there is in the vague shape of a handprint, she’s sure of it; her lip is swollen and bright red, bleeding lightly; her arms are littered with even more bruises and what looks like scratches from nail marks. Small, blunt marks dragged down from her elbows to connect with the bruises on her wrist. 

Lily just shakes her head. She had read the letter that’s now crumpled in her jacket coat. But all she really got from it was that Petunia was in hospital, and that Vernon--

The feeling of wanting to throw up is overpowered by another, bubbling wave of fury, a potion threatening to spill out of the cauldron. It’s not exactly hard to connect the dots. Dumbledore mentioned that Petunia is suspected of killing Vernon. If this is the state he left her in, then she’d have to agree. 

“That vile man,” she hisses, her voice shaking, only lowering her hand slightly. Tears have sprung up in her eyes and some have even escaped down her cheek, but she pays them no mind. “He did this. That bastard-- _ that _ \--mum and dad  _ told me _ they were worried--that awful, evil--how could he do this to her?”

James seems to have been able to put the pieces together for himself as well. His jaw is clenched as he stares at Petunia a moment longer before glancing away with a gleam in his eyes that Lily hasn’t seen since he and Severus were last in a room together. 

“Wake her up,” he says. “We need to get her out of here as fast as possible. The fewer people we have to obliviate, the better. There can’t be many more of those--er--polesheep men, can there?”

Lily doesn't correct him about the officers. “You're going to obliviate everyone?” she asks, unable to help herself faltering in surprise. 

“Of course we’re obliviating them all,” James says, glancing back at her as if that was obvious since the moment they set off from the Order Headquarters. “We’ll just have to make them think he died of normal Muggle circumstances. Health condition or something. That wouldn't be dodgy to them, would it?"

“You… you don’t care if she actually killed him?”

James looks back at her properly now as if she’s out of her mind, but as much as she knows that she knows him, it's still catching her off guard how willing he is to help without question. “Of course not. Lily, your sister and I may not have gotten off on the best foot or gotten along particularly well, but I’m not going to look at the state she’s in and think that anything she did to that cockroach was not justified.”

His eyes soften slightly at Lily, and then widen with a strike of alarmed panic. “The baby--isn’t she--?”

“It’s fine, I think,” Lily says, but hastens to pull Dumbledore’s letter back out of her pocket. Uncrumpling it, she reads back over his swirling handwriting. “Yeah, they’re both fine.”

“She doesn’t look it…” James mutters, throwing Petunia another glance of concern.

Lily looks back up. He’s right, of course. Petunia looks in no fit state. The thought of what must have happened just a few hours ago… Petunia, trying to fight against Vernon… Lily only has a vague image of him in her head, after all, she only met him twice, but she remembers him being three times Petunia’s size with the temper of a boar. 

There’s a shuffling noise from outside. Like feet on the tiled floor.

“We need to hurry,” she says sharply, and James nods, turning his attention back out into the corridor, checking to make sure the coast is still clear. “But how are we getting her out of here?”

James hesitates at that. “Do you think we would be able to manage to apparate with her without, y’know, splinching ourselves or her? Is that safe?”

“We could levitate her outside,” Lily says, uncertainly, “but then, we’d have to make sure she stays on the bike while we’re flying, and there’s barely enough room on there for the two of us.”

“Risk of splinching sounds better,” James decides, and Lily silently agrees, though the risk really isn’t much different. “Right, you take her back to the flat. I’ll meet up with you soon.”

Lily nods back. James hurries out of the room, leaving just her and Petunia as he heads off to tamper with the memories of anyone who saw them or knows of Petunia bein admitted to the hospital.

Finally walking all the way into the room, Lily stops by Petunia’s bedside, hesitating for only a moment to pull herself together, taking in a shaking, deep breath; attempting to Apparate is hard enough with another person, but trying to do so while not completely focused increases the chances of something going horribly wrong. 

She takes Petunia’s hand in one of her own, trying not to think about how it’s been ten years since she’s done that, and places the other on Petunia’s shoulder with a slightly firmer grip. It doesn’t rouse her. Lily’s sure that what comes next will. 

Closing her eyes, Lily focuses hard on her and James’ flat with the rest of the Marauders, pressing her lips together so tightly that they turn white. There’s a sharp tug behind her navel. She’s jerked off of her feet. The ground beneath her is gone, and she’s whirling around and around, her head spinning, but she keeps her hands firmly on Petunia the entire time.


End file.
